Ruminations at the Breakfast Table
by SnapeJuice
Summary: In which we follow Draco's train of thought... until it jumps the track.


Obviously, I have a paper due or I would not be writing any kind of fanfiction at all. This is actually the result of listening to the first four tracks of James Taylor's Greatest Hits over and over and _over _again. The track that influenced this piece the _most _is at the bottom. I haven't done this in a _very _long time (look at the published date of my most recent work), so if it's crappy, let me know so I can stop writing and return to the anonymity I am accustomed to.

Love, SnapeJuice

_"It isn't what she's got to say_

_Or how she thinks or where she's been_

_To me the words are nice the way they sound_

_I like to hear them best that way_

_It doesn't matter much matter what they mean_

_But she says them mostly just to calm me down." _

    James Taylor, "There's Something in the Way She Moves"

Disclaimer: All of this belongs to me. All of it. Even Harry Potter. And if you believe that, allow me to show you some oceanfront property in Arizona I have for sale. (Gosh, I love George Strait, don't you?)

It was one of those unexpected, fleeting moments that _seem _to come every once in awhile – except that they occur everyday.

Without prescience, forethought or intention, it just happened.

A boy _noticed _a girl.

It was a moment in time, not particularly special to him as he sat there drinking his Pumpkin Juice, Crabbe to his left and Goyle to his right.

His blonde hair fell lackadaisically – as much as one's hair _can _fall plastered in Follicle StayFast – and he noticed her, laughing for but a moment, her bright hair all around her (around _him)_ – and he _noticed _her.

He didn't laugh as she did– with her whole body. He had been taught restraint and control as his father had learned from _his _father, and his father from _his _father, and so on and so forth until the Malfoy men had simply forgotten how to laugh all together.

It was but a moment in time as he observed this ladybug dancing on the precipice of womanhood, caught in a fit of laughter for just a second, her bright teeth glistening in the Great HallIt was the youngest of the Weasley brats forgetting herself, forgetting her status, forgetting it all in a fitful release of energy, love, and grace.

He was entranced in that moment by so many things -

Her beautiful high-pitched voice as it freed a squeal of delight – perfect for singing little orange-haired Malfoys to sleep after arguing amongst themselves for ten minutes about whether Daddy would read them _Good Night, Earth-Orbiting Satellite _or _Thomas, the All-Terrain Vehicle._

…It was perfect for yelling some sense into him after a raucous Governor's Board meeting, questioning whether _he _would want _that _imposed at Hogwarts if he were still a student there.

…It was perfect for whispering in his ear as they shared their first dance together after being pronounced wizard and wife - as their respective fathers stared daggers at each other down across the reception hall.

It was the flailing of her right arm in that second – a movement uncontrolled before it came to rest on her chest as she caught her breath. The pallid beauty of an unpainted canvas, bare but for a few spots of red freckling thrown in for a sense of individuality.

…The gracefulness of the fingers as it grasped a wrinkle in her hand-me-down robe.

…The type of arm that could settle perfectly on the back of his neck as he made love to her, ivory on ivory, as she gasped her pleasure into his ear.

…The kind of hand that could clutch onto his wrist as he attempted to isolate himself from himself, from his status, from it _all _– to remind him of happiness and the good times that he knew.

Her legs hooked together as she chuckled in that moment, swinging back and forth in unrepentant glee. And he was jealous of so many things in that moment –

Of not knowing the feeling of losing yourself so thoroughly in a moment…

Of not knowing the feeling of heady camaraderie and comfort you must possess to be so open.

Of not knowing the feeling of her around (near, about, by, _beneath_) him.

He stared at her in that moment and knew that she could make his life one long, challenging disagreement. She would call him on his every bluff and berate him for every unconscionable sin he committed – but that it would be worth it because he would possess those arms, those fingers, that _laugh _for all eternity.

It was just a matter of starting the cycle – of breaking barriers, crossing borders, charting the unknown. All it required was getting up and making a second first impression – one that conveyed the wants and needs of this man (boy) who often feigned superhuman to camouflage the periods when he questioned whether he _was _human to begin with.

He took in the sight of her again, as she slowly brushed a stray strand of hair from her button nose. He took in the sight of the table – how they all seemed to be floating on energy emitted from the core of this brazen, graceful woman-child sitting in his direct line of vision.

The sun may have alit the earth in flames in that moment, but he would have missed it all for being so intensely enraptured by this beautiful ginger-haired fireball…

And then he saw it: the reason for her laughter.

He turned his head and directed Goyle to replenish his glass of Pumpkin Juice.

After all, he did not fraternize with the sort who laughed at jokes made by Harry Potter.


End file.
